If I could avoid making a nod to a feminine hygiene product in a title for an article, I would. Period.

Menstrual jokes aside, I have no choice. Seeing that I am the Freshman at Life, it is my obligation to let you in on any and all embarrassing moments that come my way, even ones that still make my cheeks burn as I type.

So let me take you back to last Sunday -- to my date, a guy I had seen more than once but not one I feel comfortable talking about my rag with. My date, being the fine young gentleman that he is, offered to take me around the city to accomplish everything still left on my NYC bucket list. Being a hopeless romantic, I pictured a day of hand holding across the Brooklyn Bridge, "not getting" modern art together at the MoMA, and sharing straws over a milkshake at Shake Shack. Instead, less than 30 minutes in, my plans took an unexpected turn when I was forced to blurt out: "Tampons! "Tampons. We have to find tampons." Super romantic, right?

Like I said, I wasn't particularly comfortable talking about my rag with him. I could've just said, "I need to make a quick drug store run." But I totally panicked. We weren't in Manhattan, land of Duane Reades. We were on a quiet Brooklyn street with nothing but a bagel shop and a shady bodega.

So I did what any normal person would do in this situation and ran toward the bodega, leaving him on the street.

First thing I see when I walk in? A sign that reads "Cash Only." Cash. Only?!?! The shady bodega was cash freaking only. With only a credit card in my chic messenger bag, I had to sheepishly break the news to my date. "Just take a twenty. I don't know how much those things cost," he mumbled clearly uncomfortable. I took the twenty and got the goods. Victory?

Now I've had my fair share of dating horror stories: collapsing a hammock in an attempt to coyly pounce on a napping dude, splitting my jeans whilst crawling in a clown's mouth to retrieve a rogue mini-golf ball and losing my swimsuit bottoms after taking the least feminine fall possible off a pair of water skis. I can go on. I won't. But for some reason, this ten-minute episode that might not be embarrassing to some, takes the cake for me. I don't know. I think it's because I really like the kid.

Got a more embarrassing date story? I want to hear it! Tweet me your tales @hmils and @SELFMagazine using #FALHelp!